The Sofa
by Linda Atkinson
Summary: No socially redeeming value whatsoever, just for fun. John and Dean work a job in a museum. John/Dean pre-slash. Don't like Don't read.


The Sofa

Author: Linda Atkinson

Fandom: Supernatural

Paring: Dean/John (sort of)

Rating: FRT—no sex, pre-slash

Warnings: No socially redeeming value whatsoever, just for fun.

John Winchester lay on the Elizabethan English sofa his faced slowly growing blue as his son sat astride his chest and choked the life out of him. He gasped and Dean's hands tightened on his father's throat. With a wide-eyed look of panic John struggled to half rise, but Dean wasn't budging. Finally, John put his hands against Dean's chest and pushed. The younger man's hands slipped off his father's sweaty neck and he leaned back feeling the muscles in his back and arms ache.

John sat up the rest of the way shoving Dean off of him, and surveyed the room. There were no signs of the poltergeist. Not so much as a mote of dust danced on the stale air of the museum. Dean looked around.

"I think it's a bust, Dad."

"Yeah, nothing's happening." Rubbing his throat John shuffled around and rose unsteadily to his feet. Dean got one arm under his father's armpit and slung the older man's arm over his shoulder. John coughed.

"Next time I get to choke you."

"So what do you think happened? Why was the thing a no show? It's been scaring the hell out of people for months now. And it's even started throwing things."

"I know, we need to get it out of here. I'm sure that the sofa is the focal point; we just need to figure out why it didn't appear. I read the original accounts of the thing's first appearance from the old English documents the curator copied for me." John sighed surveying the piece of furniture in question. When he had outlined his plans to the curator she had been notably unhappy with idea of two grown men thrashing about on the sofa, given its age and condition. But the thing was built like a tank in John's opinion and he couldn't see that he and Dean had done it any harm.

"And it said that the poltergeist was the spirit of the wife of the one man being choked by the other guy." Dean asked and his father shot him a look. He nodded.

John rubbed his throat again. "I may have mistranslated. I was using a dictionary and translating from old English to modern English. It's also possible that I translated the words but not the meaning. I'm going to read through it again. Let's get some coffee at the diner, and I'll go over it so we can try again tonight. I'd like to get this one wrapped up and move on."

They took a table close to the door, and John pulled out his journal, a copy of an old English parchment and a translation dictionary. He turned to the page in his journal which bore his translation of the parchment and began checking it word for word. With a frown he paused and sipped at the coffee. Dean could see bruises on John's neck and felt a stab of guilt. He might have been just a trifle too enthusiastic about strangling his father.

Finally John sat back. "It says it right here…And choked his manly neck until he died."

"So maybe the poltergeist could tell that I wasn't choking you until you died. Are you sure it's the sofa that's the focal point. How many cursed sofas have you had to deal with?"

John blinked staring down at the page. "More than you'd think. Bobby and I dealt with a gray lady that was attached to an old sofa that looked a lot like the one in the museum. Only she had to be summoned a different way." John looked at Dean and actually blushed. Dean grinned.

"How?" he snickered. John whacked him with the journal.

"Bobby and I had to…uh…make out on the sofa." John's face was crimson now, and Dean chuckled.

"I can't believe that you had Bobby's tongue in your mouth."

"There was no tongue involved." John snapped glaring across the table.

"Hey, Dad, don't get snippy with me just because your homosexual affair with my godfather didn't work out."

Half rising out of his seat John snarled, "I did not have a homosexual affair with Bobby. It was just that one time on the sofa…" He paused when he realized that he was talking very loudly and that just about everyone in the diner was staring at him and Dean. Snatching up his journal and his duffle bag John stalked out of the door.

Dean grinned at the people in the booth beside them, and the monster of a trucker at the counter. "Sorry, my Dad just broke up with his boyfriend. He's in a bad mood."

The trucker tugged on Dean's arm, and Dean hoped that the guy wasn't looking for a fight. Frankly, the guy was a hulk with a Mohawk and ten inch biceps, at least, and Dean wasn't sure he could take him on, and come out unscathed. And after three hours of choking John Dean's arms were killing him. But the guy just grinned at Dean, "So your Dad…he's available?"

Dean blinked completely floored. "Uh yeah, I'll give you his cell phone number. Give him a call later."

Dean flicked a slip of paper out his pocket and wrote John's cell number on it, handing it to the trucker with a gleeful grin. His Dad was going to get even with him for it, but it would take a few days for John to figure it out. In the mean time Dean was going to enjoy it. He pushed out of the door and found John sitting on the museum stairs.

"Dad, come on. Let's go through this one more time. If you translated the words right then it must be that they don't mean the same thing that they did back then."

John paused. He flipped through the journal. Finally, John leaned over looking at the parchment. "Oh shit."

"That doesn't sound good."

"I did mistranslate it, or at least some of it. It's not neck, it stem. Manly stem… he was

Choking his manly stem…" John's face was livid now. Dean felt a nervous laugh jumping in his belly. "Until he died, in Elizabethan England they used die as a sort of slang for …uh… come."

Dean gulped. "What now?"

"We were choking the wrong neck. It's not …." John made the universal signal with his hands for strangling someone. "We should have been…"

This time he made a more familiar gesture with his hand loosely curled in a circle and shaking it up and down. Dean shook his head then froze.

"Oh shit, you mean we have to…with each other?"

John looked truly horrified. Dean held up a hand. Tugging John over he pushed his father back on the stairs then sat down beside him.

"We can do it. Dad, you can fake an orgasm can't you?"

"I've never actually had the occasion to find out." John said. "Have you?"

Dean shrugged. "That chick did it in that movie and she did it at a table in a restaurant. It can't be that hard. Just think about the last time that you were with a girl…or Bobby."

"That's not helping, Dean." John looked annoyed then embarrassed. "I haven't really got a frame of reference here lately." Dean looked at him questioningly. John cleared his throat. "I haven't uh…since your mother."

"You haven't what?" Dean paused then realization dawned and he gaped at John. "Dad, you haven't had sex since Mom died? Dude, I think that technically makes you a virgin again."

John smacked him on the back of the head. "Dean, I brought you into this world. I can take you back out."

They settled on the sofa again, this time facing each other. Dean pulled John's feet up and pushed his legs apart. Leaning down he crawled up until he was cradled between his father's thighs. Leaning forward he whispered in John's ear. "Just follow my lead. We can fake this thing out."

Taking a deep breath Dean slid his hand behind John's head and pressed their lips together. His father's mouth was warm, tasting of coffee and toothpaste. But his lips were surprisingly soft. John responded to the kiss by putting his hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean had to admit that his Dad was a good kisser. Not too much spit and just enough pressure. Dean began rocking against his Dad, and John made the appropriate sounds, like Dean had coached him. It must have been convincing enough because the ghost made her appearance.

Dean slid off the couch and loped after her. John pulled his black duffle from behind the couch and headed off after his son and the ghost. They tracked her to the hidden grave in the museum rose gardens. It only took a short time to open the grave and salt and burn the lady's remains. As they watched the fire consume the bones Dean grinned over at his Dad. John leaned back against the trunk of a tree and took a deep breath. Dean kept glancing at John but trying to hide it. Finally John sighed. "You keep looking at me."

Flushing Dean shrugged. "On the sofa when we were kissing. I kind of liked it."

"Dean, don't even start with me." John shrugged.

"You're a good kisser, that's all."

,

"Well, I'm glad my many talents are finally being appreciated." John smiled.

They walked back to the street, and toward the Impala sitting in the parking lot of the diner. Dean laced his arm through his Dad's and they walked close together. "Dad, have you ever heard of friends with benefits?"

"Yeah, but I'm your father…"

"Yeah but, you're my friend aren't you. So anyway you remember when I said that you know not doing it for so long made you a virgin again."

"I don't think that's technically accurate but I'll bite, what does this friends with benefits thing have to do with it?

"Can we talk about when we get to the hotel?"

Suddenly John's cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the voicemail. With a frown he turned to his son.

"Dean, do you know why some guy named T-Bone would be leaving me a voicemail asking to take me out to dinner?"

The End.


End file.
